


...And You Let the River Answer

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Family Dynamics, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - New interpretation, Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Characters - Well-handled romance/eroticism, Multi-Age, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - Joy, Poetry, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2003-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:24:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quietly smitten Goldberry tries to get a rhyme in edgewise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goldberry's song

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

So they say that rivers flow, ever roaming to the Sea,  
Think you I stayed in my pool until he came to me?

Where the Withywindle flows, through valleys old as Time  
I have been, as bubble-float, as ice-floe, to the brine.  
Osse's lost child, by sunlight guiled, the River is my mother,  
And I have travelled far enough to know there is no other -  
White-water wild, round hard stones piled, my journeys had been long  
And back again, to willow-fen, until I heard his song.

Frightened all the fish, he did, out-chattered all the birds;  
The wispy bones of reeds all groaned when plucked at by his words,  
I went to see what noisy moss this was that trailed into my pool  
I seized his beard, then 'twas my wyrd to yank upon the Fool,  
Who kicked and thrashed and made a fuss as if he were 'bout to drown,  
Sending song in bubbles out, splashing me a muddy brown.

'Oh go to sleep,' he said, and yet angered I was not -  
For here was one with eyes so kind, and never had I thought  
That beasts of birth who clomp the earth could ever see inside  
What lies within the water's heart, and comprehend the tide.  
To hear him tell it, he did catch me, like some flashing fish -  
But I did abide by Withyside to shush him with a kiss.

I bade him sing to me of soil - of stone and loam and peat -  
I learned to hold this shape until the ground no longer hurt my feet,  
So strange the air, yet sweet and fair I found his knowing heart,  
His yellow boots, his earthen hair, his footsteps and his Art,  
I said, "Sweet Iarwain Ben-adar, you know I am but water,"  
He said, "I would not have you leave your soul, my love, dear River-daughter."

With lilies now he comes to me in the soft light gloaming,  
He knows I always shall return when the current takes me roaming,  
We two, we sing the twilight in, when day decides to rest,  
We sing the dawn awake, and rain to break upon the garden's breast;  
I've shown him jewels in the river, he's shown them in the sky to me,  
And as the river slakes the trees, so Tom feeds Goldberry.

So they say that rivers flow, ever roaming to the sea,  
Still free of fear, holding all things dear, I shall abide with thee.  



	2. author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quietly smitten Goldberry tries to get a rhyme in edgewise.

Ever notice that nymphs and like beings always have poems written _about_ them, and yet rarely seem to have voices themselves? No mere Muse is our Goldberry. Note that the translator can in no way verify nor deny her suggested claim to be an illegitimate child of Osse - denizens of Faerie are rarely "reliable narrators" from a mortal point of view. We also cannot confirm or deny that "there is no other" - some things, I suppose, must remain enigma.

The working title, which doesn't really fit metrically, is from Leonard Cohen's modern but fitting "Suzanne."


End file.
